


Say It First

by araliya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: A story about vulnerability, and what it means to love and be loved in return.





	Say It First

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from Sam Smith's Say It First
> 
> Warning for mentions of Darren and an OFC. 
> 
> Grab some tissues and a mug of hot chocolate for this one, my loves.

_(You're not what I'm used to_ _  
_ _You keep me guessing with things that you do_

 _  
_ _I hope that they're true)_

 

Darren’s silken tenor fills the fogged up room, rising over the low murmur of the attendants of the party. It’s someone’s birthday- one of Darren’s many Starkid friends that Chris is less familiar with- but that hadn’t stopped Darren from inviting him along in the first place.

 

They’ve rented out a bar for the occasion, and Chris sits alone while Darren sings, sipping his vodka and diet coke and grimacing (because apparently age doesn’t matter when you’re famous). He’s trying not to stare too obviously at Darren, who’s belting out _Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You_ while he accompanies with his guitar. It’s heartfelt and passionate, and the lilting notes make Chris’ heart skip beats.

 

(The thin sheen of sweat on Darren’s skin, catching on the stubble on his throat and seeping into his shirt, certainly doesn’t help matters.)

 

The song ends, and Chris manages to unfreeze enough to clap his hands along with everyone else. He expects Darren to come straight down to him- after all, he _is_ Darren’s plus one, but a girl stops him before he’s barely even gotten off the stage. The intimate way she leans up to murmur something in his ear, coupled with the hand Darren rests at her waist, twists Chris’ insides painfully.

 

His assumptions are confirmed when Darren bounds over to him, disheveled and breathless and _beautiful_.   


“Look Chris, I gotta run, okay? Are you cool to get home by yourself?” He says this while distractedly looking back several times, motioning to the girl to wait.

 

Chris smiles weakly. “I’ll take a cab.”

 

Darren grins and hugs him quickly, and Chris doesn’t have the heart to not hug him back.

 

The guy sitting next to him- (whom Chris has pointedly ignored all evening)- must see him watch Darren as he leaves, and he smirks.

 

“Darren’s kind of a slut, didn’t you know?”

 

Chris’ stomach churns, and he doesn’t spare the guy a second glance. Instead, he pulls out his phone to check whether he has enough time to get home, open the awaiting tub of honeycomb ice cream in the freezer, put on some Avatar, and maybe call his mother.

 

***

 

His mother’s voice is a comforting sound in his impersonal and rather bland LA apartment. She might not understand a lot of things in Chris’ life but she’s always been there for him, and for that Chris is grateful.

 

“Chris, _sweetheart_ ,” She says as soon as she picks up. She’s surprised, he knows. Chris doesn’t call her as often as he should, mostly because recently the conversation’s been leaning precariously towards whether he’s _found someone_ yet, because apparently he’s been alone for _far too long_ and _you really need to find someone, honey._

 

Chris wants to tell her- _I met a boy, mom, I met a boy and he’s_ beautiful _, I met a boy who for once, I think I'm in love with, but mom, he could never love me back._ He knows that when his mother asks him rather pleadingly if there's _anyone at all_ that she’s getting desperate.

 

And he wants to tell her the truth, he really does, but he just _can't_. Because saying it out loud will also mean admitting it to himself- making it so much more _real_ and he's just not ready for that.

 

Chris isn’t really ready to break his own heart.

 

“Hi, mom,” he replies, lifting the spoon to his mouth, laden with a hearty helping of ice cream.

 

“How _are_ you, darling?” His mother asks, and Chris can almost _feel_ her happiness when he tells her he’s doing fine. They talk about work and the weather and Hannah and cousin Stacey’s new tattoo and Chris pretends he’s not all that alone.

 

 _(Come on baby_ _  
_ _Do your worst)_

 

***

_(I know you'll take me higher_

_So come on darling)_

 

The night wind whistles in Chris’ ears, intermingling with their soft moans and gasps. It is warm with the summer air, even in this late hour, yet goosebumps still erupt all over his skin.

 

They’re rocking together in the papasan chair on their balcony. Chris can feel the hard lines of the bamboo against his back through the cushions, but it is nothing compared to the sensation of Darren inside him and all around him. He’s got two arms tucked under Chris’ shoulderblades, pulling them flush together, and Chris curls his own loosely around Darren, one tangled his hair and the other high on his back.

 

The slow, rhythmic creak of the chair punctuates the air among the wind and their murmurs, and Chris feels inexplicably like he is drowning. Going under fast, but instead of fighting, he’s opening his arms wide. Welcoming it.

 

Goosebumps erupt faster over his pale skin, and the hairs on his arms rise visibly in the moonlight.

 

Darren lifts a hand to brush Chris’ hair off his forehead, and his eyes glow with warmth. His movements are slow, slow enough that the pleasure is less of a burning ache to release, and more of an unceasing thrum through Chris’ body. It’s like music, like his body’s singing. A poetic cliché that Chris never knew he would be lucky enough to experience.

 

Darren’s touch is impossibly gentle against his skin, and right there, in that moment, on a hotel balcony that overlooks a midnight blue pool that looks like shattered glass as it reflects the moonlight- Chris wants to say it.

 

He wants to put words to this sensation, the one that makes him feel like he’s suffocating with how much Darren makes him feel. In an opportune burst of courage, he gasps out, “ _God_ , Darren, I-”

 

But he doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t. Not yet, not when they’ve only just started this- this _whatever it is_ , and Chris _knows_ he’s got to be in this so much deeper than Darren. He can’t let himself be that vulnerable, not when Darren has the ability to hurt him so.

 

And isn’t that a laugh, especially taking into consideration the fact that Chris is at the most vulnerable he’s ever been in his life, naked in the twilight, with a beautiful and equally naked man wrapped around him.

 

Darren seems not to take notice of his abruptly ended sentence, and kisses him soft and sweet. He doesn’t press, and in the end, Chris’ unspoken words join the wind, the creaking bamboo, and the slick slide of skin, in the mélange of their own little atmosphere.  

 

_(If I'm all that you desire,_

_I promise there'll be fire)_

 

_***_

 

_(I need to hear you,_

_say those words)_

 

The first time Darren tells him he loves him, Chris almost cries.

 

They’re laid out on the enormous bed (Chris tends to sprawl, and Darren is a cuddlewhore), and Darren is answering emails while Chris scrolls uselessly through his phone.

 

He’s been on a particularly adorable instagram page of baby animals, and been letting out squeals of varying intensity over the past couple of hours. Chris comes across an absolute gem about two years into the page- it’s of a baby panda sneezing, and scaring the shit out of his mother. Chris ends up laughing so much that he has to put the phone down and bury his face in his hands, heaving silently.

 

When he’s shaken himself of his hysterics, he pulls his head back up to look at Darren, who’s staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

 

“What?” Chris asks, rubbing at his cheeks from how much they’re aching. “I don’t look _that_ bad when I smile, do I-”

 

“I love you.”

 

It’s said so seriously and succinctly that Chris knows it’s not a joke. He feels like the ground underneath his feet has just opened up and he’s falling, falling, falling. Chris scrambles for words, that glaringly obvious reply, the one lit up in his mind like a flourescent billboard, flashing repeatedly.

 

They won’t come out.

 

Chris feels a crushing disappointment in himself that might be even worse than the miniscule moment Darren’s face falls, before brightening back up again.

 

“It’s okay,” Darren whispers, moving up the bed to grasp Chris’ hand in his own. “I know I kind of lay that on you a bit suddenly- you don’t have to say anything back.”

 

“I _really_ -” Chris chokes out, but Darren shushes him with a kiss to his lips.

 

“I know, baby. I know.”

 

Chris settles back on the bed, lets Darren drop kisses all over his body, and lets him hate himself.

 

 _('Cause I'm never gonna heal my past_ _  
_ _If I run every time it starts)_

 

***

 

 _(I never feel like this_   
_I'm used to emptiness in my heart_ _  
_ And in my arms)

 

Chris wakes up stiflingly warm. Darren radiates heat in his sleep, and from the way he’s clinging to Chris like a koala, it’s no wonder he’s overheated. Chris pushes the duvet off their shoulders to rest at the foot of their bed, baring their bodies to the cool air. The sweat on his skin evaporates almost immediately, leaving it blissfully cool.

 

He’s about to try to get back to sleep (unlikely now that his sleep cycle’s been interrupted), when he’s distracted by the sight of Darren laying next to him. He’s laid out on his back, hand resting above his heart, lashes dark against his cheeks. His halo of curls fan out on the pillow, and his chest rises and falls minutely.

 

He looks like an angel.

 

Suddenly, there’s a lump in Chris’ throat that blocks off his air, that makes him gasp and swallow futilely, tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision like the aftermath of a blow to the chest. Chris can tell it’s a panic attack, but not like any other he’s had before. It’s never hit this randomly, never made his heart ache like someone’s clutching it in their fist and _squeezing_.

 

When Chris closes his eyes and lets the tears dissipate under his lashes, he sees the face of that someone. It’s Darren.  

 

Nothing can prepare him for the onslaught of feeling that rushes over him as he takes in the man next to him. Is this what it’s like to love someone? When your heart is no longer yours but someone else’s entirely? When they can do as they please with it, because you let them, because you _love_ them?

 

Chris raises a shaking hand to Darren’s hairline, brushing the hair away from his face, revelling in the feather-soft touch against the pads of his fingers. He traces the arch of his eyebrows (thick and beautiful), the line of his nose (that lists slightly to the left), the bow of his upper lip (truly shaped like Cupid’s bow), the plane of his jaw (dusted with a smattering of stubble).

 

Chris replaces his fingers with his lips, pressing a dozen kisses to Darren’s forehead, ignoring the tears that roll down his nose and only stopping to wipe them away once they hit Darren’s cheeks. He kisses a path down Darren’s face, down his neck, across his collarbone, to the skin above his heart.

 

He moves Darren’s arm so that he’s curled up under it, so that it’s resting over his back to cup his shoulders. This time, he welcomes the heat.

 

Leaning his forehead against Darren’s breastbone, Chris begins to speak, the words barely above a murmur. His lips catch on the grain of the hairs that are growing back from being removed for a scene. They tickle as his mouth forms words.

 

“I love you. I know I’m cheating- telling this to you when you’re not even conscious, but in case I never get to say it, I want to do it now. Maybe it’ll seep into one of your dreams and you’ll hear it there.

 

“I’m so scared, baby. I’m so scared that I’ll give myself to you, every single piece of me, and end up getting hurt. Because that’s what happens, Dare. Happy endings don’t exist in real life, and they most certainly don’t exist in Hollywood.”

 

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself to say what he says next.

 

“It’ll happen. You’re beautiful and kind and smart and strong- you’ll find someone else. They’ll- _she’ll_ give you everything- kids, a family, acceptance- all the things I could never give you. You- you’ll make an amazing dad, Darren. _God_ , you’ll be perfect. They’ll have your smile and your hair, and they’ll probably talk your ear off-”

 

Chris laughs thickly, but it’s short and bittersweet.

 

“And once the show ends, you’ll call me once or twice a year, and I’ll hear them in the background. They’ll be singing, Dare, they’ll have your sweet, sweet voice.

 

“Then the calls will taper off to the odd card every Christmas, and knowing me, I’ll probably collect every one of them and keep them in that box on the top shelf of the closet, simply because they’re from the man I love.”

 

Chris is suddenly shaking, sobs wracking his chest. He presses his lips above Darren’s heart over and over.

 

“I love you, Darren Criss. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you-” His words blur into a garbled mess, and he lies there and lets the tears take him, curled under the protective embrace of his boyfriend’s arms.

 

Darren sleeps on, dead to the world.

 

 _(I think of you while I sleep_   
_I dream of what we could be if we grow_ _  
_ Together unfold)

 

***

 _(Say it, say it, say it_ _  
_ _Won't you say it to me)_

 

“Okay, Christopher, spit it out,” His mother’s voice comes from the other end of the line.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re doing that thing when you ramble about random things before you get to what you actually want to say. I’m taking Hannah out soon, so I have no time for your deflecting.”

 

Chris is in the kitchen, watching his latest baking endeavour morph in the oven, while Darren takes a shower.

 

“I’m in love, mother.”

 

He deadpans it, but with the silence that comes after it, he knows his mom is uncovering the truth behind his words.

 

“ _Christopher!_ Oh my _goodness!_ ”

 

Chris has to hold the phone away from his ear so as not to damage it with the pitch of her squeal, and smiles to himself.   


“ _Really_?” She sounds so happy that a warm tingle settles in the bottom of his stomach.

 

“Yes, really.”

 

“With _Darren_?”

 

“Who else, mom?”

 

“And have you told him that?”

 

Chris freezes. This time, the silence is of a different timbre.

 

“Oh, _Chris_ ,” she says, the sympathy in her voice evident.

 

“I’m trying, mom.”

 

“For how long?” His mom’s voice is gentle. She understands, having watched him put up every wall around him as he crawled through adolescence. She’s witnessed him lay every brick.

 

“Since the very first day I met him.”

 

It seems that those walls ended up being of no use against Darren. They didn’t stop Chris from falling into his orbit, unable to escape from his gravity.

 

“Chris, darling,” she says, and he imagines being wrapped up in her arms like she did when he was little, smelling her familiar perfume. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

 

It’s like she can read his mind.

 

“How-” he starts, and she laughs her beautiful laugh.

 

“I’m your mother, Christopher, I know.” Her voice grows gentle again. “Now, I’m going to have be fast, because I really do have to go, but you need to know this. It’s not a bad thing to be vulnerable. It doesn’t mean being weak, but being courageous. And that feeling sweetheart, when you let yourself be vulnerable, is _so_ fulfilling.

 

“When you open yourself up to Darren, and you will, darling, because you are the bravest person I know, you will feel how worthwhile it is. Because one of the greatest things you can find, is someone with whom you have a safe place, to be afraid together.

 

“I have no doubt that that boy’s just as scared as you are, so all you have to do is be brave. Saying those three words are just that first step.”

 

 _(Say it, say it, say it_ _  
_ _Won't you say it to me)_

 

***

 

The first time Chris tells him he loves him, Darren feels as if he could fly.


End file.
